


Heaven Sent

by Nym



Series: Hell Bent & Heaven Sent [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 05:42:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6503200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nym/pseuds/Nym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr Gold is an unwilling participant at the baby shower for his second grandchild. Requested by Tumblr user <strong><a href="http://steampunk-archer.tumblr.com/">steampunk-archer</a></strong>. "Hell Bent & Heaven Sent" part 2.</p><p>
  <em>He has no objection to opening his chequebook to his unborn grandchild's future, signing his name and leaving the figure blank for Bae and Emma Swan to decide. He's quite sure that his bank account is equal to whatever their consciences will allow them to take from him. Belle tells him that he's missed the point. He tells her that he hasn't; everybody else has.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heaven Sent

**Author's Note:**

> **None of my fanfiction may be reposted or otherwise shared elsewhere, including translations and audio recordings, unless you have my written consent. Using my occasional original ideas/characters in your own fanfic, to make your own words or art or whatever, is fine with me.**

He's a spectre at this feast and he knows it. Gold isn't a man given to sentimentality, that halfway point between indifference and love. When he loves, he loves with his entire being, such that the rituals pale into insignificance. Valentine's Day is a careful joke between himself and Belle, observed because he knows that she enjoys the tokens of romance, yet taken lightly because it's not a ritual from their own world. This world has a ritual and a gift card for any occasion you care to name. For the most part Gold finds them trite, empty and entirely unfulfilling.

He sees the point of this one. A young couple, a child on the way, are to be gifted with the things that are needed for a new baby. He has no objection to opening his chequebook to his unborn grandchild's future, signing his name and leaving the figure blank for Bae and Emma Swan to decide. He's quite sure that his bank account is equal to whatever their consciences will allow them to take from him. Belle tells him that he's missed the point. He tells her that he hasn't; everybody else has. It isn't a quarrel, but he sees her sag in that way that stings him so much, her eyes searching his for some sign of understanding.

They reach a compromise when Belle points out that this is about gestures, that it would be helpful if he made one. Things are complicated between him and Baelfire, so complicated that his son objects even to the name and will answer only to Neal Cassidy. Their world has no use for the patronymic naming of its children. Gold's son is simply Baelfire, son of Rumpelstiltskin and Milah, and their identity was tied to a place, not chained to the past. Yet in rejecting the name, Neal rejects his father, and Gold wakes up sick with that in the small hours, wrist pressed to his lips to keep the pain from escaping him as a sound that might wake his wife.

Belle bought a gift for each of them to bring. She tells him that it's usual for the expectant mother to offer around a list of what she needs, but Emma has been almost as dubious about this gathering as Gold himself. It was left to Snow White to mention here and there what gifts would be welcome, to tactfully ensure that their grandchild doesn't wind up with fifty hats and no crib. Gold approves of the gift Belle chose for him, a device for conveniently sterilising bottles and other infant necessaries. Something to protect the baby. He can live with that. But having shown it to him, Belle then wrapped the thing in paper of a shiny holographic silver, embellishing it with what she cheerfully called 'sprinkles'. Curled ribbon bounces atop the box that he clutches to his chest, and he doesn't dare read the little gift tag and learn what she's written in his name.

There's a table for the gifts, which are already spilling over. Indeed, Granny's looks as if someone took to it with Belle's sprinkles, between the many wrapped presents, the bunches of blue and pink balloons, the banners and the food that seems to be in keeping with the theme. Gold stands near the door, abandoned by his wife who's gone in search of Emma, no doubt to hug and congratulate her for a second time. Neal doesn't exclude Belle from his warmth, his welcome, his joy. Gold watches his son embrace his wife, and it isn't envy he feels. He begrudges nothing to Belle, to Bae. Not even each other and the shared understanding that they've come to without him.

As he loosely understands it, a baby shower is an event for the womenfolk. But Storybrooke, like Emma Swan and like Neal Cassidy, defies category. Not so very long ago the town gathered here at the diner to welcome the new baby prince who'll never rule them, lasagne for his naming feast. Now they gather to show their appreciation for the Saviour and her... Gold doesn't know what they call it, between themselves. His son has not confided any details to him. He'd assumed that Neal would be reconciled with Miss Swan from the moment he learned of their prior connection. It's no surprise to him, therefore, that their union has produced a second child. Another prince or princess, come to that. Gold feels his lip curl in a reluctant little smile. His grandchildren are royalty.

Belle has told him that it came as a surprise to the happy couple, who can't believe it's happened to them twice. She asked him, sultry and teasing his lips with her fingers, if he failed to have a certain little talk with his boy all those years ago, to which Gold replied that he most certainly did, and given the place and time the fatherly advice consisted of "keep it fast in your breeches until you're wed, son, or you'll feel the back of my hand."

"You never struck that boy," Belle had said, confident, kissing her way towards his own 'breeches'.

No. No, he never did. He never raised a hand, hardly raised his voice, loved his boy and would've loved any child he fathered.

Gold wonders if he can love this new one now, this grandchild. He lets his eyes roam the throng, looking for Henry. Dark head, serious eyes, sticking close to his mother's side. His other mother, his adoptive mother, Regina, whose unease at these proceedings is visible to one who knows her well. She's come to terms with Emma Swan, with sharing the epithet of 'mother' with another woman, but she doesn't yet know what's in Neal's heart. Gold could tell her that there's only devotion, only loyalty, only love. He could tell her that his son is incapable of malice, that at worst he's prone to impassioned acts of poor judgement, that Henry couldn't possibly be better loved by a father under the circumstances, but he doesn't tell her. He doesn't owe Regina that.

A touch to his arm. Belle. She gives him a knowing, loving look and crooks her fingers behind his elbow.

"They look happy."

"Yes." Yes, they do. At the centre of it all, all the glitter and chatter, seated at the heart of the press of bodies, Emma is clutching Neal's hand. To Gold, she merely looks overwhelmed, flushed, but Neal does look happy. The proud father, easily sociable and effortlessly acting as his lady's protector, deflecting the conversation when the onslaught of well-wishing gets too much for her. Gold sees her give him a grateful smile, a mock grimace of apology; Neal leans nearer, jokes with her, and Emma laughs, hand going to rest on her big belly.

"Go and give her your gift," Belle urges, but Gold shakes his head. "That's why it's called a shower, because we shower them with gifts. It shows that you care."

He looks at his son again, then at Emma Swan. She's more at ease than before, reassured, laughing with Doctor Hopper as they interrupt one another in telling a story. Henry drifts over to hear it, and Neal catches the boy in a headlock by way of a greeting, ruffling his dark hair. They laugh together, at ease. Henry bears him no ill-will for the lost years, nor for the treatment of his mother. Baelfire cannot say the same of his own father. He looks up as if sensing he's being watched and catches Gold's eye, his expression blanking.

"He asked me to invite you," Belle presses, her voice gentle. But Neal's gaze slides on past his father to the door behind him, and from Neal's convulsive swallow, Gold already knows who it is who opens that door and joins them. One little group at a time, the room falls into a hush, all eyes on the newcomer.

Belle's fingers tighten on his arm.

"Milah," he says, striving to make his voice as carefully neutral as Neal's expression.

"Hi," Emma calls, embarrassed for all of them. As she no doubt hoped, her acknowledgement is enough for most of those present. Conversation resumes. People go back to what they were doing. Milah stands at his elbow, having no room to distance herself, and gazes straight ahead of her. Like Gold, she holds a parcel in front of her as one might hold a shield.

"Rumple. Belle." She nods, courteous and cautious. Glancing down, carefully sideways, Gold sees that her fingers are bare of her usual heavy rings and are turning white where she grips the gift so tightly. Milah turns her head towards him, a fraction more than he himself has dared to look at her. "For our son," she says, tight with self-mastery.

"Indeed." Gold offers her the smallest of bows in return, grateful for the pressure of Belle's hand on his arm. His lifeline, his safety; his Belle, his wife of the here and now. "For our son."

The truce that took them to Neverland is holding, but it is a cessation of hostilities only. There is no shred of forgiveness between them, but perhaps a certain weariness with battle. Gold has found better things to do. He loves his wife, content that Belle loves him in return. He loves his son, grateful for every moment that Neal is near to him and for every opportunity to begin making amends. And Neal is a fair minded man. He could offer no less to his mother than to his father.

Bolder than he, always, Milah strides into the fray and faces the parents to be, proffering her gift as though not sure which of them to give it to. Emma accepts it, while Neal watches his mother uncertainly. He remembers her very little, he's confessed to Gold in a rare, precious private moment. He remembers little of his mother Milah. He knows her as Captain Hook, scourge of the Lost Boys, bad influence, cut-throat pirate and sometime occasional ally against Peter Pan. A woman of cold and calculating honour without maternal warmth. You can see it in his puzzlement when he watches her now, accepting without comprehending. He looks so like her when he frowns like that, and so like the serious little boy he was before she left them.

Milah moves off towards the bar.

Belle kisses his cheek. Were she anyone else, a possessive gesture, but from Belle it means only her support, perhaps her gratitude for his attempt at grace with Milah.

"Go on," she urges again, and releases his arm.

Self-consciousness is a sensation long lost to him, but Gold is ever vigilant and thus he is aware. Eyes. Whispers. The people who move hastily out of his way and the people who wait a moment too long, as though they would challenge him if they dared. He dislikes it, but if Milah can run this gauntlet then so can he. For their son.

Emma greets him with a knowing little arch of her eyebrow. She's seated while those around her stand, Henry's hand currently resting on her shoulder although he is engrossed in talking to Granny.

"Mister Gold." Emma is always one to size him up, to watch for traps, but when she senses no danger in it she does so with a knowing smile that one might almost consider fond. She's a kind woman. He's glad his Bae has found someone kind. "Thanks for coming. We didn't expect so many people."

Words arrive at his lips, unbidden. A jest, trite and meaningless. He says nothing, setting his gift beside her cup of hot chocolate with some ceremony. When he straightens, Neal is watching him.

"Emma. I trust you're keeping well?"

"We're great," she says, giving her rounded belly an approving rub. "Thank you from grandkid number two, and us."

Gold smiles. He doesn't need to make an effort at it, the pleasure is genuine, a warmth in his heart such as he rarely feels these days in any company but Belle's.

He turns to go back to Belle, but she isn't where he left her. An urgent search with his gaze finds her at the counter, talking with Ruby who serves her two glasses of iced tea. Gold's absurdly flattered that she felt no need to watch him doing his duty to their hostess. Belle believes in him even when she shouldn't; she believes that it's enough to make an effort in the right direction. Gestures, he thinks, almost bumping into David because he can't tear his gaze away from Belle. He remembers courting her with hamburgers and iced tea, there at the booth to his right.

"Gold." David slides past him bearing two cups of coffee. "You and Hook in the same room, no bloodshed. That's progress." From Prince Charming, that mild remark is a stark, unspoken warning: 'Keep it that way, because if you endanger my family...'

Gold warmly contemplates turning him into a snail.

He's almost back at the door when a hand drops onto his shoulder with the assurance of familiarity. In spite of that he's surprised when, turning, he sees Bae there.

"Hey," his son says. The hint of uncertainty in his expression rends his father's heart. Gold lets himself be drawn aside, as far from the crowd as can be managed without leaving the building.

The name is on his lips, _Bae_ , but he keeps it there.

"Neal. It seems your child is going to want for nothing." Why is it that when it comes to his son he never knows what to say? He used to, he's sure. Even after he became the Dark One there was still a time when they could talk to one another.

"Yeah, I'm not even sure what half this stuff does." Neal's quip is is strained as his own pleasantries. His lost boy. Gold balls his fists at his side so as not to reach out and touch him. "Listen..." Neal drags a folded cheque from his pocket, holding it up between index and middle fingers. "Thank you. For... I mean, for this." There's a 'but' coming, thinks Gold. "But we can't accept it."

He's anticipated this. Run through the argument in his mind already.

"It's only money."

Neal smiles, and while there's mirth in his warm eyes there's a bleakness in the twist of his mouth.

"There's no 'only' in any transaction with you," he says, gently pressing the paper against Gold's chest. With the other hand Neal grasps his upper arm. "Really, Papa. _Thank you._ Thank you for thinking of it, of us. We don't need anything from you. Thanks for coming."

There's a hug of sorts, unplanned and untidy. Gold feels his son's lips brush his temple before they part, sees Neal's eyes bright with tears as he turns back to the party, and understands. Nothing is wanted of him but his presence is welcome. It's a novelty, he'll give it that.

He's staring down at the cheque in his hand when Belle comes to his side. She eases the two drinks onto a corner of the nearest table, smiling at the occupants before she turns back to him.

"Is Neal all right?"

"Yes." Gold can feel the place where his son kissed him, a whisper of sensation that lingers the way a spell lingers on the skin. He blinks, crumples the cheque in his hand and pockets it. "He... appreciated the gesture."

Belle attaches herself to his arm, leaning in close, one hand snaking down to grasp his.

"Do you think it's a boy or a girl?"

Gold looks down at her, amused. Perhaps such questions are obligatory at a baby shower.

"One doesn't even need magic to find out, in this world," he points out. The truth is that Miss Swan need only close her eyes and _feel_ to know who and what her child could become. She has more magic, more power in her than she could possibly know.

Belle gives him a little pout of protest that he won't play along with her conversation, but then she lowers her lashes, bows her head a little, and looks so lovely that Mister Gold can scarcely breathe.

"So will you come to my baby shower?" she asks him, closer still so that only he can hear her. Her hand tightens and tightens still further in his own, and he probably doesn't need to be the Dark One to register how her pulse suddenly races.

It takes him several moments longer to register what she is asking him and to put a meaning with that beautiful, modest flush she's suddenly wearing.

"Belle?" he breathes. Only then does she look up at him, uncertainty blossoming into hope in her eyes. Her perfect, perfect blue eyes.

Gold stares unseeing over his wife's shoulder as he hugs her close, blurting words that he hopes are appropriate to the moment. Emma catches his eye. Grins. Holds up a freshly unwrapped device for sterilising baby bottles for him to see. Gold smiles at her helplessly, then he kisses his wife and never mind who's staring.

His future is here in this room. Son, grandson, wife. Family yet unborn. Second chances.

He's ready.


End file.
